Playful Oneshots
by scriptrixlatinae
Summary: A series of playful, mischievous, semi-crackfic oneshots. Mostly Jareth/Sarah, though other characters may creep in. Rating subject to change.
1. Dropped The Soap

Author's Introduction: This will become a series of random oneshot ideas, none of which really make any sense, and all of which are purely for the amusement of myself and others. The rating will change as I expand the series, so if you suddenly come back and it's rated M...well, you have been warned. These oneshots are _not_ supposed to be related to each other or anything else (unless otherwise marked), so don't expect any sort of continuity in characterization, age, location, plot, etc. This will be updated as I feel like it, as my muse hits...probably fairly irregularly.

If you have ideas for further oneshots, feel free to tell me (through review or PM), and you can always vote on the poll on my profile. (Yes, that poll corresponds to this "story," and no, this wasn't one of the original options. It just really wanted to be written.) Serious oneshots, however, will still have their own story (like "The Tradition's Nightmare"). These are just for the strange, awkward, and generally "where on earth did _THIS_ come from?" ideas.

* * *

Author's Note: You can assume that this takes place about 4-6 years after the movie, and is probably fairly late at night. (Hence the absence of other shoppers.) It's probably in a Walmart or Kroger's...some type of grocery store that stocks general household supplies (like soap and pet supplies) in addition to your more common foodstuffs. For this story, I like to think that Jareth's made it a habit to stalk Sarah as she does her errands, but I'll leave it up to you as to whether or not she's still living with her parents (and therefore shopping for more than just herself).

Summary: Jareth follows Sarah to the grocery store and manages to make a mess. _(Now with sarcasm!)_ Rated K.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Labyrinth_ or any other published work which I may quote or reference. This work is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, not monetary gain.

_DROPPED THE SOAP_

"Clean up, aisle five," the bored store clerk called over the intercom, interrupting the store's bland background music—a mix of soft rock and contemporary Christian pop. "Cleaning supplies and detergents."

He replaced the microphone in its cradle, accidentally leaving it slightly askew, so that it still broadcast his words to the rest of the store.

"_What happened this time?"_

"_Some blond freak dropped a bottle of liquid soap and it smashed. What else is new?"_

His friend realized the error before he did and nudged the handset, settling it firmly into its holder. "Didn't the boss already chew you over for not putting that down right?" he asked.

"Eh, what does it matter?" the original announcer replied. "I'm quitting Friday anyway."

* * *

"Jareth, so help me god, if you don't stop hexing everything you touch, I will—" Sarah noticed her audience in time to cut off her threat before she made herself look too much of a fool.

Her uninvited shopping companion leaned against the shelves leisurely and flicked an invisible speck of dust from his lapels. "Really, Sarah, I have no idea what you're talking about," he drawled. "I didn't do anything except what you asked me to. That's all I've ever done."

The bony teen looked from one customer to the other, his prominent Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Um... Is everything okay here?" His eyes flicked from the brunette, her arms crossed angrily, to the blond in the _strange_ clothes—where did he get them? A thrift store?—to the electric green mess on the floor, beside which lay the broken remains of a plastic detergent bottle.

The brunette suddenly smiled disarmingly, unfolding her arms to lean on the handle of the shopping cart beside her. "Oh yes, we're perfectly alright. My _friend_ here—"

The clerk wasn't so slow that he missed the murderous glare she sent in the blond's direction, though it only lasted a millisecond.

"—just thought that that bottle looked terribly like Surge, and wanted to try it. I'm sorry. We'll get out of your way now."

The boy nodded slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves.

"Well, come along, dear. Let's let him get to work," the woman said brightly, looping her arm through the man's and steering him and the cart expertly out of the aisle.

Jareth snagged a second bottle of soap as they passed and dropped it in the cart. Sarah _had_ asked him to get her one, after all.

* * *

"Would you care to explain why, precisely, that pimply excuse for a human being was looking at me as though I smelled of bog?" Jareth demanded quietly once they were safely away, this time perusing the pet food aisle. "And what in the gods' name is Surge?"

"Surge is—_was_—a type of soda. He's probably too young to know about it, but it was about that shade of green, and it made kids intolerably hyper. It came out when I was about the age Toby is now, but it was discontinued because it had some chemical in it that the FDA objected to," Sarah explained absently, looking from her shopping list to the bags of cat food on the shelves.

"And the look he gave me?" Jareth prompted testily.

Sarah glanced up at him briefly from the corner of her eye. "I implied that you wanted to drink dish soap," she said shortly. "Which, by the way, would make you sick to your stomach. Of course he looked at you like you're an idiot. Who else would manage to break a bottle of detergent? They're _made _to resist being dropped on the ground."

Jareth's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he opened his mouth for an angry retort, but Sarah interrupted him again.

"Come on. I think that's everything." A bag of cat food was now nestled in among her other selections, and she resumed piloting her cart, this time toward the cash registers at the front of the store.

* * *

The pimpled teenager watched them leave warily, hiding behind his mop as they passed his aisle again. They were still bickering animatedly, he noted to himself.


	2. Muse ic Argument

Author's Note: If you haven't already read through Chapter 7 of "Patience Is Not A Virtue", you might want to do so, so that you understand what scene Jareth and I are arguing about. (Not that it's compulsory for understanding the argument...but it does help.) I wrote this snippet partially to get Jareth to SHUT UP (didn't work), partially to explain to my new beta (Landlord's Daughter—you should all go thank her for being my beta, BTW) what living with His Royal Arrogance is like, and partially to explain the same thing to you all. (Seriously. Don't try it.)

Oh, and for things like shits and giggles, too. But that's secondary, when you're stuck with a demanding, arrogant muse like Jareth hanging around. ("Arrogant? Me? Never..." "Shut up, Jareth.")

I'm not really sold on the title for this, so I may change it. Feel free to send me suggestions. Along with suggestions...you can vote on the poll on my profile as to which oneshot idea I should write next. (Five people have voted so far. I find that pathetic. Someone please vote.)

Summary: I had an argument with Jareth, one of my muses. Opinionated ass. Companion piece to Chapter 7 of "Patience Is Not A Virtue". Rated K+.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Labyrinth_ or any other published work which I may quote or reference. This work is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, not monetary gain.

_MUSE-IC ARGUMENT_

"The closet scene, Jareth."

"I'd thought we already settled this issue."

Damn him for having such a smooth, silky-soft, compelling voice...though that infuriating smugness, his never-ending assurance that _he is always right_, is starting to get on my nerves.

Well...more than just _starting_...

"It doesn't do anything for the plot. You know that. I know that. I want to get the _plot_ out, not your own personal closet fantasies."

"You say that as though there is something _wrong_ with my closet."

Did I mention that I still haven't enlightened him as to the meaning of the phrase "coming out of the closet"? I haven't enlightened him.

He wouldn't be so patiently still amused if I had.

"Jareth...it's a blatantly self-serving scene, and you know it," I remind him, frustration starting to show.

He stretches leisurely—showing off, I'm sure. "And?"

"_It has no point!"_ I snap back. "No point at all, except blatant fanservice."

His eyebrows lift at this. I've learned a new word, apparently.

"Fanservice," he echoes in a flat voice.

"Acting out the hormone-fueled fantasies of rabid, Jareth-stalking fangirls everywhere," I clarify succinctly through gritted teeth.

He snorts. "They won't catch me." His voice is, yet again, all cool assurance. "You needn't worry your pretty little...tangled-hair head over me."

Joy. I've always wanted for some arrogant, nonexistent male to sound like he's patting me condescendingly on the head like I'm some tiny puppy, still too young to walk without tripping.

"No...of course they won't," I fling back cattily, sharp sarcasm laced through my tone. "After all, you're over _here_, harassing me to write out your little story for you, aren't you?"

He smiles again suddenly, his dazzlingly white teeth catching in the faded light of my lamp. "Exactly. And about that writing..."

I steal his lead-in. "The closet scene. Seriously, you can't be that attached to it. I'd just stick it in 'Playful Oneshots' anyway, so it's not like it wouldn't get published."

"_But_," he interrupts, "more people read your Patience story—I approve of the title, by the way, it _isn't_—than that oneshot thing. And since it was originally _written_ for that story, shouldn't it stay in there? Hm?"

Oh, _now_ he's condescending again. He's so pleasant like this, it reminds me of getting my cavities drilled.

"Have you never heard of a process called _editing?_" I hiss at him, trying not to yell.

He snorts. "All right. Fine. Have you asked that new beta of yours what she thinks? Do tell."

I snort and roll my eyes. "She says leave it. Apparently it'll give insight into your _character_ when you're not getting chewed out and beaten up by Sarah."

He raises an aristocratic eyebrow. "Does she, now... Except for the dig about my dear, sweet Sarah—"

Sarah's voice comes from outside my bedroom. "I heard that, you overweening prig! And I'm not your 'dear, sweet' ANYTHING!"

And now it's my turn to raise a questioning eyebrow at him. He shrugs it off.

"As I was saying, except for that bit—which I'm sure is simply your _famous_ sarcasm once again—I quite like her already. What else has she said?" He sounds positively chipper by now.

"About your closet, you, Sarah, the story, or what?" comes my sullen response. Pushy, inquisitive bastard.

I can understand why Sarah gets tired of him.

"All of the above, of course," he purrs, now combing his fingers through his hair and examining himself in a mirror—where did he get a mirror?

Never mind. It's better not to ask.

I sigh again. "She says keep the closet scene, because it shows you being yourself, rather than just reacting to Sarah."

He twirls his fingers at me, the universal sign for _I've heard this before, hurry up._

"Sarah, she thinks should cool it—at least some—because her constantly fighting you is getting old."

He snaps the compact closed with a wolfish grin. "_Excellent._ Do send her my regards, won't you?" he asks.

"—and she says that you come off as—hang on, let me look up her exact words—"

I disappear briefly to do just this, and reappear with the correct quotation.

"—as 'a cheeky, arrogant, handsome, immature prat w/ nothing better to do than to bother a cute girl' and that it 'is the ONLY thing he'—_you_—'comes off as'."

I sit back to watch the fireworks, which are singularly depressing.

One eyebrow climbs disbelievingly up his forehead as he snaps his mirror open once more and disappears behind it. "Hmph. I may have to have a talk with her, then," he declares in a miffed tone.

_(Landlord's Daughter, I hope you're listening. He doesn't exactly make a pleasant houseguest.)_

"Have fun, then," I reply airily. "But you may not have to wait that long to meet her—she recently declared herself one of my muses, and I told her that she could be your new playmate."

This gets me a slightly disbelieving look, and I can't help but add, "like Sarah."

_That_ gets a reaction.

"Sarah," he replies loftily, "is not a mere _playmate._ She is, in fact, my—"

"_I am 'your' nothing, Goblin King, and you would do well to remember that!"_

Oh yes. Did I mention that Sarah doesn't react well to a certain possessive Goblin King?

I bury my head in my laptop and let their argument slide over me. Jareth will lose anyway; he keeps trying to be insufferably arrogant at Sarah, and he has yet to realize that it doesn't work.

_Ten minutes later..._

When did Jareth start reading over my shoulder?

"Insufferably arrogant, am I? Well, if that doesn't work, then what will? Since you seem to know so much..." His voice is silky-smooth once more, and I know there's going to be hell to pay.

"You do realize that Sarah actually _talks_ to me, don't you?" I ask, somewhat short-temperedly, turning the laptop away from him. "So if you're still intent on wooing her, you might want to actually COOPERATE WITH THE AUTHOR rather than simply bull your way through, like you have been doing."

Another snort.

"I _do _believe that I just asked your opinion on that very matter," he replies, dangerously pleasant, "so you might want to reconsider antagonizing me. Again."

A glare, half-shielded by my laptop, doesn't do any good.

"She _did_ give you some criteria to work from, all the way back in Chapter five," I remind him. "You might consider working on those first."

He waves a hand, as though such is beneath his notice. "All in good time," he airily assures me. "But about that _new_ advice..."

I sigh in defeat. At least it might help him get the right idea this time. They really were supposed to be farther along by now.

"First of all, stop cornering her—especially in her bedroom. It's her own, private domain, one of the few places that's actually _hers_, and that she can go to so she can get away from the rest of the world. Including you," I point out. "Stop hitting on her so blatantly, too. It hasn't worked up until now, so it probably won't work any better next time. You should have figured this out for yourself already, by the way."

He looks distinctly unamused by my attempt at a reproof.

"Give her a chance to come to you—give her something that interests _her_, and in a way that she doesn't feel threatened by taking it. Being somewhere public, with other people around, might help."

"Absolutely not," he replies staunchly. "I detest people as a natural course, and I refuse to degrade my time with her by sharing it with the company of others."

"Your funeral, mate," I toss out flippantly. _Will it make any impression...?_

He snorts and looks like he's going to continue arguing.

"You know what, why don't you go have that talk with my beta?" I interrupt quickly, before he can get started again. "I think she's been wanting to meet you anyway."

How I manage to hurry him off and package him into an email, I will _never_ know, but at least he's out of my hair for a bit.

Now for Sarah.

"You don't _really_ think that that'll have any effect, do you?" She can be almost as sarcastic and condescending as Jareth, in her own way, and I'm in for a long night.

I just know it.


	3. The King's Throne

Author's Note: Jareth and Sarah say that they've been living together in the Goblin Castle for a while now, rather like roommates...but more mischievous. I can't tell who has the upper hand, though I'm starting to suspect that it's Jareth. He's had more practice, after all...though I'd like to see Sarah one-up him (if only briefly). And this was SUPPOSED to be Sarah's turn to one-up him...but he's just too good at subverting her mischief for his own purposes. *amused*

Summary: Sarah tries a subtle attempt to one-up the Goblin King...but really, who was she kidding? It's _Jareth_—one-upping him doesn't happen. Rated T.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Labyrinth_ or any other published work which I may quote or reference. This work is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, not monetary gain.

_THE KING'S THRONE_

Sarah drifted happily into the spacious, well-populated room and gravitated naturally toward the most attractive—and cleanest—seat in the room.

Which _just happened_ to be Jareth's lap as he sat on his throne.

He had both legs tossed over the side of the large ivory armpiece and was staring off into space, attempting to lose himself in his thoughts (as usual when surrounded by his diminutive subjects), so he was taken by surprise when, seemingly from nowhere, one hundred thirty pounds of woman dropped into his lap.

He tried valiantly not to jump, or look caught off-guard, and almost succeeded...but not quite.

"Hi!" his new lapmate chirped. "How are you?"

Jareth blinked at her slowly. "Sarah," he began, trying hard to be patient, "what have I told everyone about sitting in _my_ throne?"

Sarah's chipper expression didn't even waver. "I'm not sitting in your throne," she informed him, as though it explained everything. "I'm sitting in your _lap_."

"I noticed," he remarked drily. "Would there happen to be a _reason_ why you chose my lap as your seat of preference?"

Sarah shrugged, comfortably nestled against his chest. He didn't miss the fact that her cuddling up to him had exposed more of his chest between the edges of his already gaping shirt. "I wanted to come thank you for last night," she said innocently, looking up at him from where her head rested on his bare shoulder.

Jareth quirked one eyebrow at her. "What else was I supposed to do, when you appeared in my bedroom, begging to join me?" he asked rhetorically.

She simply made herself warm and cuddly against his chest. "Yes, but you didn't have to," she pointed out virtuously.

Jareth snorted and finally wrapped his arms around her. Knowing her, she wouldn't stop squirming until he did...and maybe not even then. "The goblins had trampled your bed, and you had to sleep _somewhere_, since your bed was obviously no longer an option." He grinned wolfishly, gazing down at her dark-haired head. "I may be cruel, but I'm not _that_ cruel."

Sarah squirmed until her back laid against his chest, her head tipped back over his shoulder. "I still think it was sweet of you," she protested. "Though I didn't know your bed was quite so comfortable. Or warm."

Jareth rolled his eyes to himself. "I _do_ like to be comfortable while I sleep," he remarked. "Though I'm not sure that you got an accurate impression, considering the fact that you fell asleep on my chest."

Sarah had the grace to blush...briefly. He could tell that she was trying to think up a teasing rejoinder, so he intervened.

"You may have to try it again," he suggested deviously, slipping his leather-gloved fingers under the edge of her shirt and inching them up her stomach. "To get a proper impression."

"Mm... Is that an invitation?" she checked, trying not to squirm. He _knew_ she was ticklish there!

"Perhaps," he purred. "Would you accept it?" His fingers were now tracing her ribs delicately, and he smirked to himself. If he kept this up, Sarah might just find herself shirtless in the middle of his throne room.

...not that she wouldn't deserve it.

"Perhaps," she definitely-didn't-squeak. After a moment, she jerked upright.

_His __hands__...!_

"Actually, I have to go. I promised to meet Hoggle, and—"

Jareth chuckled quietly at her frenzied, half coherent excuse—though it became a hiss when she twirled in his lap—_grinding her hip into his lap!_—and ran.

"You," he croaked, pointing at one of the goblins at random. "Why don't you go take some of your friends and play in Lady Sarah's room again? Leave her a nice surprise, why don't you?"

_That_ would ensure him his own chance to "thank" her...


	4. The Golden Ass

Author's Note: I stole the idea of Jareth being self conscious about his pale skin from Miss Selah's story "Sex Bomb" (which on my list of favorites), but I'm not sure where the rest of it came from. The name is a reference to _The Golden Ass_, which was written by Apuleius about 125 AD in Latin. It's about a man named Lucius who needs to learn to be more careful about what he does (and to use a little common sense). It also tells the story of Cupid and Psyche, which Jareth references.

Summary: Jareth once tried to teach Sarah to be careful about what she said, but it seems that he has yet to learn the lesson himself. Rated T.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Labyrinth_ or any other published work which I may quote or reference. This work is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, not monetary gain.

_THE GOLDEN ASS_

This, Sarah felt, was getting ridiculous.

"Jareth," she began, squinting through the darkness to try to see him better.

"Mm?" was Jareth's noncommittal answer. He was clearly more interested in her body than her words.

"Why does it have to be so dark?" Sarah asked patiently.

"Mm...don't you like it?" he purred. "I feel that it adds suspense." He did something—she wasn't sure _what_—that made her squeak suddenly in protest.

He chuckled darkly.

"But I can't see _anything!_" she complained.

"Oh, trust me, love, I can see well enough for both of us."

"Owl!"

"Mortal."

Sarah huffed in frustration and leaned over to pull back the heavy curtains surrounding his bed, but felt him capture her hand and pull it away. "Jareth!" she protested. "This isn't funny!"

"Why, just think of us as Cupid and Psyche," he suggested. "You've always wanted to love a god, haven't you?" She could _hear_ his smile, damn him.

"Or," she suggested, far too sweetly, "I could be Bella, and you could be Edward. _He_ was afraid of the light too, you know."

There was a long, slightly uncomfortable pause. Sarah made the mistake of attempting to fill it. "He was handsome, you know. And immortal." Her voice, meant to sound light-hearted and sincere, was slightly breathless. She could _feel_ his glare, even without any light.

"Really." His voice was short, clipped—the way it became only when he was really, _truly_ insulted. "Then why don't you go find _him?_ I do believe that he is also, like me, fictional."

Between one blink and the next, Sarah found herself dropped onto her own bed, blinking painfully in the too-strong light. After a moment, she noticed that he hadn't felt like returning her with her clothes.

_Again._

* * *

Jareth stormed about his castle in a dreadful mood, causing all of the hapless—but not entirely stupid—goblins to take flight. _How DARE she compare me to that atrocious excuse for a vampire!_ he snarled to himself.

He would show her. He didn't need her; he could find plenty of mortal women to dally with. She had not been his first, nor would she be his last.

He simply had to find the right woman, and he was sure he had the perfect method.

* * *

A young girl, who had once read a strange little book she'd found in her school's library, squealed when she saw the notice and promptly read it aloud to her friends. Their teachers didn't believe them when they tried to explain what had happened and sent them all home with stern letters.

Strangely enough, many of those girls soon vanished too.

* * *

A college professor saw the advertisement and used it in his class as an example of rhetoric. One of his students obligingly offered to read it aloud, and, satisfied, the professor turned back to the blackboard to write down the important points of his lecture.

When he turned back around, the student was gone, with only an excessive amount of glitter to mark where the student had been. This caused quite a disturbance in the university.

* * *

"Hey, Kelly, did you see this ad?"

"Mm?" the addressed Kelly responded.

"Yeah, it's a trip!" her friend went on. "Listen to this—_Handsome, charismatic male seeks partner. Must have spirit and wit. Imagination and tolerance with minions v. helpful. NO TWILIGHT FANS. Reply with 'I wish the goblins would come and take me away right now._'"

Kelly waited in the bathroom, hands tied up in styling her hair, for her friend to go on. She thought she heard some giggling, but it sounded strange. "Liz?" she called. "Yeah, it sounds weird, but what about it?"

After waiting impatiently for several moments, Kelly kicked the door open to look into their shared room. Since Liz's bed was empty, Kelly assumed that she'd just snuck out the door for something.

But how had she been so quiet—and so quick?

* * *

Sarah also saw the ad in the _Times_, and laughed very hard for a very long time. She suspected that Jareth hadn't fully thought his revenge tactic through.

She also suspected, and quite rightly, that he would regret it very, very quickly.

* * *

Jareth, meanwhile, was attempting to control the disaster that his realm had become and cursing his seemingly _brilliant_ way to find a new lover. It was something that worked for mortals all the time; why hadn't it worked for him? He now suspected, from some of the responses he had gotten, that such 'personal ads' often weren't taken very seriously.

A large percentage of his castle was now taken over by his unfortunate new subjects, most of them wailing to be returned, even _after_ he'd explained that the Labyrinth didn't work like that. A number of rather sad looking women had stared at him with far too hopeful an expression, however, and he had quickly backed out.

Yet more of the wished-aways were making a wreck of his Labyrinth, and apparently were quite happy about their new situation. He began avoiding them after several of them tried—very crudely—to seduce him.

Jareth swore to himself to find all copies of the paper and of his book and _burn them to cinders._..though that would have to wait. That infernal girl was using her "certain powers" to summon him.

Sarah had the arrogance to be reclining on the sofa in her apartment—in the apartment that _he_ had helped her get!—and looking perfectly relaxed when he appeared.

"How have you been?" she asked solicitously. "I saw your little ad in the paper." She was, he noticed, holding a small rectangle of slightly grayish paper.

Sensing that he wasn't going to answer her first question, Sarah tried another. "How is the Labyrinth? Has anything interesting happened since the last time I was there?"

The little rectangle burst into flames.

Sarah flung it into an ash tray sitting on her coffee table and sat up, sighing. "You can't get rid of the people who read it, can you? They wished _themselves_ away, so there's no one to run for them."

"I _despise_ you," Jareth growled.

Sarah rolled her eyes and chuckled. "No you don't," she contradicted him. "You hate _them_. You _love_ me—because I'll make the run for them."

She watched his expression change with amusement before adding, "First, though, you're going to get rid of those stupid ads, and then I'm going tell you on what conditions I'll make the run."

Jareth looked affronted and was about to lambast her for her presumption when she suddenly turned to go into her bedroom. "Don't you dare walk away from me, woman!" he snapped.

"I'm _changing!_" she shot back. "Surely you didn't expect me to run the Labyrinth in my favorite dress, did you?"

Jareth sulked, but wisely decided to work on preventing further imbeciles from seeing his ad and wishing themselves away.

A few moments later, Sarah returned, now wearing jeans, tennis shoes, and an old t-shirt. She was tying her hair up as she began listing her conditions.

"Sixteen hours—to make up for the three you stole from me last time—help from Hoggle, Sir Didymus, and Ludo; no more oubliettes or that damned groping shaft of hands or drugged fruit; no making me forget my mission; and a map."

Jareth gave her a long look. "There aren't any maps of the Labyrinth," he deadpanned.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Then _make_ one. It can be like the Marauders' Map and change to reflect the Labyrinth's changes; I don't care. But I want to know what's ahead of me."

"You do realize that if I gave you a map, it would defeat the entire purpose of running the Labyrinth, don't you?" he drawled.

Sarah ignored him. "And when I win, I get a free wish—no restrictions, no penalties, no fine print."

"_When_ you win?" Jareth asked sarcastically.

Sarah glared up at him. "You do realize that if I lose, you're stuck with the wished-aways forever, don't you?" she mimicked.

Jareth responded by dumping her into the middle of a mob of crazed fangirls rampaging through his Labyrinth. Her three friends were hiding on the other side of a hedge, wondering where the scroll with the strange markings had come from.

* * *

Several hours passed, some with less patience than others. At last, though—and well before the time limit—Sarah found herself at the center of the Goblin King's castle, facing him once again.

"Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way there to the castle beyond the Goblin City...for my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great—"

Jareth interrupted her. "Can we please skip that speech? I never liked it in the first place."

Sarah laughed. "You have no—" she began teasingly.

Jareth snarled at her. "You've already won—there's no need for that."

Sarah just shrugged. "So can I have my wish now?" she asked innocently, with a smile that Jareth suddenly recognized as the one that meant he was in deep shit.

"I wish that, for the next month, you will always and _only_ respond to the name Edward Cullen."

_Again._


End file.
